Dances With Ghosts - Erin McCarthy

One

“You’re going swinging?” Grandma Burke asked me. “I thought people stopped doing that in the eighties.”

I had no idea if people were still swinging, but I strongly suspected the only ones in my family who might ever consider that lifestyle were my parents, which was a disturbing thought.

My boyfriend, Jake Marner, homicide detective extraordinaire, and supercute guy, started to laugh, then covered it with a cough. I gave him a look, but he just grinned back at me.

“Swing dancing, Grandma,” I told her. “Not the other kind of swinging. Like men physically swinging women around on the dance floor.” Was that why it was called swing dance? I actually had no idea but I needed to scrub my brain of the thought of my parents partner swapping.

“Oh, like big band stuff?” She did an armchair dance, waving her hands and kicking her slippers up in the air.

Despite it being a balmy spring day in the upper sixties, Grandma Burke was always cold. The curse of aging. She was only happy on days when it was ninety degrees. I couldn’t argue with her that winter was a challenge in Cleveland, unless you liked winter sports and activities. Which I don’t. You can keep your skiing and your ice skating and your snowmobiling, thanks. I preferred a cozy chair by the fireplace with a cup of coffee in my hand.

But we were experiencing an actual legit spring day and I had to admit, I would have preferred to be taking a walk in the part instead of going to dance lessons, but Jake’s mother had bought them for us. So we were obligated.

“Exactly like that, Grandma.”

“Have fun and remember to leave room between the two of you for the Holy Spirit. None of that grinding stuff.”

Now Jake did laugh out loud.

My grandmother was the oddest mix of devout Catholic, juvenile jokester, and slightly senile tell-it-like-I-see-it old lady. She was, in a word, awesome.

“It’s swing dancing, not the tango. No grinding required.” Though her words reminded me of awkward Catholic Youth Organization dances in middle school, which made me shudder. That had been the mantra—leave room for the Holy Spirit. Because, what, God wanted to be sandwiched between a sweating pubescent boy and a girl a head taller than him with braces? Doubtful.

Also, Jake and I were moving in together in a few weeks, so I didn’t think a little dirty dancing was the major issue at hand.

“We’ll be back in an hour and a half,” Jake said. “Call or text us if you need anything.”

Grandma Burke beamed at him, patting her phone on the end table to show me she had it in close range. “I will, Jake, dear.”

Let me tell you about Jake Marner. He deserved the label of World’s Greatest Boyfriend because he did not even blink or bat an eye when I told him I needed to have my grandmother move in with me. My parents had decided it was time to divorce after nearly four decades of a crap marriage and Grandma Burke was caught in the crossfire.

Maybe it was the swinging. I don’t know. But my parents no longer spoke to each other, there was a heated divorce in play, and Dad had a girlfriend named Judy. Grandma Burke was like the Corgi everyone claimed to want and fought over, but when push came to shove, they wanted to leave her alone for days on end with the food bowl piled high with kibble. So she had moved into my restored Victorian in Ohio City, which sounds like a large house, but isn’t. It’s an urban area with narrow lots (skinny houses) and non-existent yards. The house had been perfect for me when I was single, and even fine with Jake as my overnight guest a few nights a week.

But with Grandma ensconced in the former office on the first floor it was shrinking dramatically.

Especially since ghosts pop in and out at random.

Because I’m a spiritual medium. Not by choice. By genetics, maybe. Dumb luck, more likely. Irish curse, for sure. Grandma said it was the final stamp of the Druids on our bloodline. She was the only one in my actual family who knew that I was a pay-by-the-hour motel for disgruntled dead people. They dropped in, made demands, then left. Jake knew, and tolerated it because he loved me, though he did not enjoy the invasion of privacy. Lastly, a few months earlier I had blurted my new status as seer of the dead out to